


the war is over and we are beginning

by apollothyme, thesilverwitch



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Footy Ficathon, M/M, No but really, Self-discovery through hair play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3142769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollothyme/pseuds/apollothyme, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverwitch/pseuds/thesilverwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has at least one nervous tic. Something they do when they’re stressed or spaced out. A way to keep their hands busy and their thoughts from fraying.</p><p>Toni’s tic is fixing his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Everyone has at least one nervous tic. Something they do when they’re stressed or spaced out. A way to keep their hands busy and their thoughts from fraying.

Toni’s tic is fixing his hair.

(He mainly does it when he’s trying to focus, think and keep breathing all at the same time.)

He can’t pinpoint the moment he started doing it. Probably when, at Mario’s suggestion, he grew his bangs long enough for his fingers to run through them. They’re not yet at the point where they cover his eyes—he’s not a Justin Bieber wannabe, thank you very much—but nonetheless they’re still there. A weight on his forehead that can be pushed and pulled around and so he does it, unable to resist the force on the back of his head that commands him subconsciously.

Nonetheless, it has to be said that Toni is unsure how he messing with his own hair has turned into everyone else messing it for him.

He knew the others noticed his tic early in the season. It was kind of hard not to when he did it every five minutes in a game, but he hadn’t expected anyone to care because, well, why would they?

It’s like he said, everyone has a nervous tic. His isn’t special by any means, which is why he’s a little dumbfounded when, one day as he’s leaving the locker room of the Valdebebas, Isco pulls him by his arm, pushes his bangs up and says, “There, now you look like a smooth rockstar.”

In less than five seconds Toni’s hair is back to its natural position and he’s sure that while he looks like many things—confused, warm, baffled, touched—smooth is unlikely one of them.

Maybe if he’d have said something then, he could have prevented the domino fall that followed. 

(He doesn’t though, because as weird as it is to have one of his teammates randomly touch his hair, it’s not uncomfortable per se.

Of course, he should have known thinking that would jinx him.)

Once Isco does it, everyone else follows in line as if they can’t resist themselves.

Sergio pats his hair all the time as if Toni is his younger kid brother, which, really? Of all the people to act like their age has given them wisdom beyond understanding, Sergio Ramos is at the bottom of the the list. Iker likes to mess it up when he passes by him during practice while Marcelo pulls the ends up to give Toni fake spikes after he showers. Arbeloa scuffs him on the head from time to time. Gareth runs his fingers through it when trying to get Toni’s attention toward a certain direction.

Cristiano is the one who never touches it, probably out of too much respect towards hairstyling to mess up someone’s hair on purpose.

Isco, who started this whole thing, doesn’t go a day without playing with Toni’s bangs at least once. He says things like, “You look nice,” and he’s always touching a part of Toni, be it his arm or his hand or his shoulders. Isco stares without shame and winks when no one is looking. Isco is a hurricane who trails after Toni just as much as Toni trails after him, who always tries to make sure Toni doesn’t feel excluded from anything.

And then there is James, who is always careful and polite and seems to radiate warmth and affection by simply existing. James, who convinced Toni to let him use gel on his bangs and give him a pompadour that looked nothing short of ridiculous. James is always there alongside Isco. He touches Toni’s hair seemingly without even noticing when they’re sitting next to each other. He is overwhelmingly kind.

(It’s different with Isco and James compared to how it is with everyone else.

It takes Toni a while to understand why.)

His brother tells him, “You have a crush,” over a late-night Skype conversation after a match. Real Madrid had won, Bremen had tied. They don’t talk about either.

“On Isco?” Toni asks. He shakes his head without thinking about it.

“Yeah and on James too. Nice job, brother. Always have to aim big, don’t you?” Felix’s words are sharp, but his eyes are closing with mirth and his mouth is pinched from holding back a resonating laugh.

“I don’t,” Toni says. They’ve had similar arguments before, but Felix has never been so open about it. Toni doesn’t look at the camera and one of his hands reaches towards his hair. He knows he doesn’t sound like he means his words.

Felix laughs again, but his eyes soften. It’s as if he’s the older brother and not Toni. “It’s fine you know, to have a crush on someone else. Two someone elses in this case, but, you know, what you do is your own business.”

“They are my teammates,” Toni’s not sure who he’s arguing. Felix or himself.

“So? You’re the kind of guy who stands awkwardly with his arms by his sides when people hug you, but suddenly those two come along and you’re fine with people touching your hair?” Felix asks, continuing before Toni gets a chance to open his mouth. “And don’t try to tell me you let everyone else do it as well because it’s not the same. I’ve seen them around you. There is little platonic about it.”

Toni runs a hand down his face. He says, “you’re wrong,” because he has to say something and follows it with a final, “I’m tired. Goodnight,” before he hangs up.

(A part of him had known about it already. He known it the same way you know what the temperature in a room is without checking the thermostat and that your food is spoiled without eating it. A part of him had known, but another had been ignoring it.

He can’t ignore it now.)

Toni wants to blame his crush on them. He wants to blame it on their love for physical affection and the way they’re always there, but he knows that’s not how crushes work. He knows it’s not someone else’s fault that he can’t keep professional and personal separate. That he’s mixing friendly with romantic. That he wants what he shouldn’t.

He’s pretty sure he must be the weird one. Despite what Felix said, liking men isn’t normal, much less two at the same time, and there’s no one else to blame this on but himself.

The next time one of them tries to touch his hair, he backs away, forces out a fake smile and says, “Leave it alone, yeah?” 

James smiles back. He doesn’t look like he understands.

He starts spending less time with them and more time with Bale again. He pretends everything is fine and acts like he’s suddenly grown fond of his hairstyle and doesn’t want it disturbed.

(He tells himself it’s easier this way. Never mind that it only makes him feel bitter when he sees Isco and James hanging out without him. Never mind that the weight on his chest goes nowhere. Never mind that he still thinks about them all the time. Never mind logic.

Mind fear.)

It’s January when it all comes crashing down.

They’ve lost their third game in a row and Toni is tired. He’d been soaring high during their winning streak, but now his strings have been cut, his wings beaten, and he is falling faster than he can push himself up. He stays for too long in the shower, until his skin is a feverish pink and there’s not a molecule of dirt on him.

They’re staying at a hotel for the night and the team bus left about ten minutes ago, which is fine by him. He’ll take a cab later and not deal with anyone else.

The locker room is meant to be empty when he returns. There’s no reason for anyone to take an hour getting dressed after a loss unless they’re loitering around on purpose.

Toni doesn’t look either of them in the eye. He gets dressed while facing the wall.

The air around them is thick from the loss and the steam. Their wires are strung too tight, ready to snap. Toni takes deep breaths and tries to keep to himself. He’s not surprised when that doesn’t work.

It’s James who approaches him. James, who still smiles at Toni every morning even though nowadays, more often than not, Toni doesn’t smile back. James who asks, “How are you feeling?” and then says, “it’s not your fault,” as his hand reaches for Toni’s hair like it used to.

Toni doesn’t push it away. He doesn’t. But he does say, “Don’t,” his eyesight lifting from his feet to James’ face before he forces it down again.

He had meant to look determined. Angry. He hadn’t meant to see the pain his words caused.

This is the moment when he expects it to end, but Toni is so shit at that, isn’t he? He’s always too focused on what he wants to see to notice what’s truly there.  If he weren't so good at being willfully ignorant, he probably would have noticed that by now.

He waits for Isco to pull James away from him and say, “Come on, let’s go. It’s not worth it,” and instead finds himself with a hand in his hair and another fisted around the fabric of his shirt.

Toni’s whole body moves towards James on instinct, working against him.

“Stop it,” James says, “Stop trying to push us away and act like everything is fine and that you’re okay. Just _stop_.”

“I don’t—” Toni tries to say, but suddenly Isco is there as well, sitting next to him on the bench and pulling his head up so he can look them in the eye.

“You are a terrible liar,” Isco says. The right corner of his mouth is lifted up, but it’s not a happy grin. Toni gulps.

He doesn’t apologize, but the words are right there on the tip of his tongue. In their place he says, “I didn’t mean to upset either of you,” so at least they can’t accuse him of lying again.

James sighs. "It’s fine,” he says as he sits down on Toni’s other side, one of his hands slipping away, but the other staying right where it is in Toni’s hair.

Isco, however, only makes a gentle humming noise, his fingers scratching the back of Toni’s neck, before he asks, “Why did you do it?”

Toni’s heart stutters in his throat.

(They can't know.)

He tries to get up, but their hands lock him in place, forcing him back down. “Why, Toni?” Isco asks with more force, pulling Toni’s chin towards him with his other hand.

Toni stares at him with wide eyes. As if he can say it in Spanish anyway. As if he can put to words the mess of feelings that have been eating him since October. As if there are even words that can grasp how royally fucked he is.

He can’t say it, so he does it instead. He does what might get him punched, kicked out of the team and humiliated for the rest of his life and he kisses Isco.

It’s a short kiss, a brief brush of their lips against each other that could almost pass as an accident if it weren’t for the heavy atmosphere in the room. Toni tries to leave immediately after he does it. There is adrenaline pumping in his arteries telling him to _run, run, run_. He manages to actually get up this time — Isco and James must both be too shocked to act—but before he gets the chance to take a single step, they’re both pulling him back with such strength that Toni’s head slams on the locker behind him. He doesn’t even have time to worry about that before Isco is kissing him, a real kiss this time with passion and intent and an obscene amount of tongue.

When they break apart Toni is panting and no less confused than he was before.

He stares at Isco, who grins at him and pushes Toni’s chin towards James. Toni is confused for another two seconds before James begins to ask, “Can I—” not finishing when Toni starts to nod frantically.

In the rare moments where he allowed himself to imagine what kissing them would be like, Toni had pictured Isco exactly like the kiss had showed him to be: dominant, abrasive and intense. James, on the other hand, he’d pictured slower and softer.

He’d pictured wrong.

James crowds him. His hands pull Toni’s hair, which sparks a reaction out of Toni that simply isn’t fair and which James swallows greedily. He moves to sit on Toni’s lap, sucking on Toni’s tongue and licking his mouth open as he takes all he wants. One of his hands digs into the skin on his neck, rubbing it with his thumb before he presses down with his blunt nails. Toni is almost embarrassed to admit how much he enjoys it.

“See, now isn’t being honest way better than lying?” Isco asks after James and Toni part for air.

James laughs at his comment and Toni, despite still being confused on just about everything, has enough sense of mind to lift one judgemental eyebrow at him. It makes Isco cackle and say, “God, we missed you,” between the laughter.

Toni says, “I missed you, too,” and figures maybe, just maybe, everything’s going to be fine.


	2. an internal radar for chaos and mischief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Isco calls on Sunday night and says he’s going to be late because he’s, “taking care of something important,” James immediately knows he means trouble. Call it a sixth sense of his, an acute perception of danger or even an internal radar for chaos and mischief. James wouldn’t go as far as calling it a supernatural power. All he’s saying is that when it comes to the people he’s close to, he always knows when they’re preparing something that may or may not result in needing to break someone out of jail.

When Isco calls on Sunday night and says he’s going to be late because he’s, “taking care of something important,” James immediately knows he means trouble. Call it a sixth sense of his, an acute perception of danger or even an internal radar for chaos and mischief. James wouldn’t go as far as calling it a supernatural power. All he’s saying is that when it comes to the people he’s close to, he always knows when they’re preparing something that may or may not result in needing to break someone out of jail.

“You could also call it an obvious fact. Everyone knows he’s been planning something all week. He’s incredibly transparent when he’s excited,” Toni says from his place on the couch.

“Yes, well.” James inclines his head to the side. It’s true Isco had been hiding something from them, often lost in thought during practice and unwilling to comment on whatever was on his mind when they asked. “That too.”

Toni makes a small noise in agreement. He hasn’t bothered to look up once in the past ten minutes, too busy playing one of his basketball games to pay attention to anything else. This would only get worse when Isco got there. The two of them were like dogs with a bone when it came to video games, way too stubborn and ridiculously competitive against one another. James usually sat to the side and played with whatever pets were around while the two of them tried to set each other on fire in a sports game. There was, in his opinion, a lot of things the three of them could do that were a lot more fun than those games, but playing games always led to one of them throwing something at the other, which led to wrestling, and in turn that, too, led to something else they could all enjoy.

“I’m not going out tonight wearing a costume, if that’s what he’s planning. No more costumes or fake beards.” Toni says, strengthening his point by looking away from the television and levelling James with a hard, cold stare.

“No more fake beards,” James agrees. Toni had a rash on his jaw for a week after that lovely adventure and James nearly fainted from a heatstroke because of the fat suit. No more costumes. They could all definitely agree on that. “It might have something to do with dinner?” James suggests, taking advantage of the fact that Toni has stopped focusing on basketball.

“He was the one who suggested we get takeaway tonight. He might be bringing something instead,” Toni says.

James sits on the couch next to Toni and takes a minute to think about it. They’re never too picky with their Sunday night dinner, the only meal of the week where they’re allowed to eat anything and everything within reasonable limits. It had become a tradition that, whenever they ordered takeout, they picked something from outside of Spain. So far they’d done Chinese, Tai, German, Portuguese and American BBQ. James was going to suggest they tried Japanese tonight. Sushi, a few hot plates and sake were guarantees for a good night.

“If he brings something disgusting I need to be drunk before I attempt to eat it,” Toni says, getting up and walking to his kitchen.

It’s weird, to James, how his relationship with Toni and Isco can still feel brand new after months of dating. There are still a lot of unknown variables, as well as a lot of juggling to make their time schedules work.

Of course, there are things that have become a routine. They have dinner together every Sunday, except on nights when they have practice early in the morning the next day, in which case they’ll get together on Saturday or Monday. On Wednesday, they all bring their pets to Isco’s house and let them play together, which is as chaotic as it sounds. James and Toni often share clothes. Isco has started playing with Toni’s brother, Felix, on the Xbox One. Apparently Felix is amazing at Counter-Strike and takes great pleasure in kicking Isco’s ass.

“Doesn’t Toni kick your ass in video games all the time, too?” James had joked one afternoon and then the following night apologizing for it in the most creative ways he could think of when Isco refused to speak to him.

All of this and more came with time, and not always with ease.

At first, things between the three of them had been awkward. _Really_ awkward. Isco tried to act all brash about it, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and James always spoke his mind, but that didn’t make navigating awkward silences and dealing with jealousy any easier. Dating two of your teammates when you’re all famous athletes playing for the biggest club on earth? Not an easy task. Learning their respective limits, what made them tic, what topics were safe to thread and which they should avoid took time, patience and effort.

So far, they’ve made it work and James couldn’t be happier. It means a lot, having two people by his side who understand what it’s like to have so much pressure on one’s shoulders, to be unable to play from an injury and the rush of success after a victory. The fact that he wants those people and they want him back — it’s more than he ever asked for. 

There are still things James doesn’t know, like what the hell Isco’s planning, but for the most part they’ve left the awkwardness in the past, abandoned it as they each found their footing and balance in the relationship.

Months ago, James wouldn’t know what to do if Toni suddenly got up and left. Nowadays, he doesn’t even think before he gets up and goes after him.

“We’re not getting drunk tonight. I’m not responsible for anyone showing up hungover to team photo day tomorrow,” he says as he enters the kitchen.

Toni closes the fridge door, flipping around so he can slump against it. “Ugh, but mom, I need it.”

James laughs and pushes Toni out of the way so he can grab two zero cokes. “First of all, ew, that’s incestuous and gross. Second of all, you _need_ alcohol? What kind of talk is that? Do we need to have an intervention?”

“I need it if Isco is going to bring fried grasshoppers for us to eat, that’s for sure,” Toni argues, which doesn’t stop him from accepting the cold can when James presses it onto one of his hands.

See, James knows him now. He knows how to do this easy back-and-forth that always— _always_ —ends up with someone backed against a wall and, more likely than not, someone else on their knees. 

“He’s not going to bring fried grasshoppers,” James says. He is not actually one-hundred percent sure of this fact. Nothing is impossible in Madrid, although he can’t imagine where or why Isco would get something like that. “It’s probably something fun.”

“Fun?” Toni lifts an eyebrow in question, grinning back at James, who is now standing in front of him, can of coke in one hand, the other above Toni’s head. 

“You know, something for later, after the meal.” James shrugs.

Toni’s grin shifts from flirty to rueful as a laugh tumbles from his lips. “Just so you know, I’m going to hold you up to that.”

James kisses him, closing the final inches of space between them. “Fair enough,” he whispers. Toni kisses him back and they lose themselves in the flow of kissing and being kissed until the doorbell rings and James moves away. An apologetic smile graces his mouth. “Moment of truth.”

“The calm before the storm,” Toni agrees with his infamous innocent expression that means he gets away with handing out dry jabs more often than not, even though he is, in reality, a sarcastic asshole.

They talk to the door together, Toni a step behind James.

“Hello,” Isco says as a greeting, stepping in to give James and Toni a quick kiss on the lips.

As soon as the door is closed, Toni asks, “So, what’s the deal?”

Isco looks from one to the other. “What deal?” he asks. James takes a second to inspect him. He’s carrying a backpack on his shoulders, but it’s not unusual for him to bring a change of clothes for the Sunday night dinners since he can’t fit into their clothes.

Toni, as always, remains unruffled. “You’re up to something. We know it. James sensed it with his powers. He’s got a radar for chaos and mischief.”

Isco glances at James, then back at Toni. James, for his part, limits himself to silently cursing Toni for throwing him under the bus like that. 

“Have you two been drinking?” Isco asks, but he’s grinning and his hand is holding onto the strap in his backpack with far more strength than required.

“What’s in the backpack?” James shoots back. 

“You’ll see,” is the enigmatic reply Isco gives them as he starts walking to the living room. “Can we order dinner now? I’m starving. What were you guys talking about earlier? Japanese?”

James and Toni share a look, words unnecessary to convene their thoughts. “Japanese sounds great,” James yells, not looking away from Toni. “I’ll call them.”

Toni nods at him. “If something happens, I’m saving my dogs first and you guys second.”

James nods back. “Fair enough.”

James takes out his phone and makes the call where he is, leaving Toni to follow Isco on his own. He’s telling the person on the other end of the line that they’ll take six of every type of sushi they have—what’s the point of being rich if you’re not going to overspend on sushi—when he hears Toni yell, “Isco, please. Put that down.”

“I’m going to have to call you back,” James tells the receiver. He puts the phone back in his pocket and takes a few cautionary steps to the living room, unsure of what he’s going to see. “Guys? Everything alright?”

“I’m about to witness a murder. You should get here, James,” Toni says.

“A murder?”

“Of Isco’s good looks. His common sense as well. Flat-out murder.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a bit of dramatic side?” Isco asks in the snottiest tone possible. Neither of them are in the living room, so James continues following their voices all the way into the main bathroom.

“I have a lot of self-awareness,” Toni argues. He’s standing beneath the door frame, blocking Isco from view. “It’s different.”

James pushes him to the side gently to see what the fuss is all about. Isco isn’t holding anything special in his hands, just an electric razor.

“What’s happening? You’re going to shave your beard?” James asks. That doesn’t sound horrible. Personally, he quite likes Isco’s beard, especially when Isco is pressed against him, but it’s not as if Isco looks ugly when he’s clean-shaven.

“He’s going to shave his hair,” Toni says before Isco gets the chance to open his mouth. “ _Just_ his hair.”

As if on queue, Isco turns on the razor. “Why?” James asks.

Isco shrugs, facing himself in the mirror. “I feel like it,” he says as he lifts one hand and slowly—or maybe it’s that the world is now in slow motion—he shaves a whole strip of hair from the center of his forehead to the top of his head.

By James’ side, Toni looks transfixed in both horror and awe, unable to look away. They watch in silence as Isco shaves strip after strip of black hair. It wasn’t too long before, but it sure did look like he had a lot of hair as his head gets pearlier and pearlier. It’s not a horrible look on him, but it’s certainly not breaking any hearts either.

When Isco gets to the back of his head, Toni is the one to silently move forward to help him. He’s methodical about it, quick and efficient as he shaves all the bits Isco couldn’t reach.

When they’re done, they all stare at Isco’s reflection in the mirror.

“You look like you have developed a spontaneous case of extreme hair loss,” James says. A curious thought hits him. “ _Are_ you going bald?”

Isco laughs, shaking his head. “I just wanted to try something new.”

“And? Do you like it?” Toni asks.

“I could do worse,” is Isco’s reply. “You guys still wanna break up with me?” he asks, flipping around to face them.

Toni replies first. “I could do worse,” he says, mimicking Isco’s reply with an overtly casual shrug.

Isco grins and kisses Toni, drawing it out for a long moment. When they part, he turns to James and asks, “And you?” 

“You could bleach your hair and dye it white and it wouldn’t make a difference to me. If you like it, I like it,” he says.

The other men make a ridiculous _aww_ noise in reply and Isco even goes as far as pinching James’ cheek and yelling something about James being the cutest puppy in all of Spain—sarcastic assholes, the both of them—but past all that, Isco seems pleased with his reply, just like James knew he would.

Isco gives James a wet, sloppy kiss on the cheek and slaps Toni’s ass before he struts away, leaving in search of a dustpan to pick up all the hair. As Isco is walking away, James gets a good look at his head, which now resembles a dirty egg, and an interesting memory sparks and flickers to life in his mind.

“Hey Isco,” he calls. “You didn’t by any chance lose another bet to Dani, did you?” 

Last time Isco lost a bet to Dani, he had to wear his underwear on his head for a whole week. Luckily, it was during summer break and no one but them, their teammates and anyone Dani sent a photo to saw him, but it was still an interesting week, to say the least.

Isco pauses and makes a sound that closely resembles. “Uhhh. Maybe?” He turns around and grimaces as Toni smiles like he’s found the Holy Grail.

“This is amazing,” Toni says. “What did you bet this time?”

The fact that Isco can’t look them in the eye as he speaks is enough of an answer on the scale of ‘from 0 to Di María moving to Manchester united, how much do you regret your decision?’

“That Dani couldn’t chug a whole bottle of ketchup sauce in one minute. In my defense, it was a very big bottle of ketchup and, most importantly, I’m highly convinced Dani Carvajal isn’t human. Highly convinced,” he repeats.

If James and Toni spend the next ten minutes laughing at Isco, they can hardly be blamed for it.


End file.
